The Bucket List
by StraddlingTheAtmosphere
Summary: Dean and Castiel make a list of places to have sex in before they die. Open to suggestion. Pre-Swan Song. In between 5x21 and 5x22.
1. In which there is sex in a motel room

Title: The Bucket List (1/?)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Pairing: Dean/Castiel  
Rating: NC-17  
Genre: Romance/depends on the chapter  
Summary: Dean and Castiel make a bucket list of places to have sex in before they die.  
Timeline: set right in between 5x21 and 5x22  
Disclaimer: No owneth.  
Notes: A series of oneshots all **open to suggestion **and connected very loosely by a vague plot and the over-hanging Apocalypse.

Chapter 1: In which there is sex in a motel room

* * *

Body being pushed against the wall, a mouth hot and hungry on his, open and wet and welcoming. Hands rough and desperate grip his clothes, slipping under to palm sensitive smooth skin, muscles rippling and breath gasping.

"Dean, _Dean_," Castiel is panting, eyes half-lidded and focused on the temptation of the hunter's swollen lips, green eyes nearly black with hunger. A nipple gets twisted expertly by a rough, calloused hand and Castiel keens, head tucked in the hollow of Dean's throat, biting at his collarbone. He feels the full-body shudder against him as he laves his tongue across the bite, sucking more skin into his mouth.

"_Cas_," Dean hisses, arching into the touch, fingers searching for purchase on the wall in front of him, the nearly-human's body effectively pinned.

"_Fuck_," he growls, feeling as Castiel's clever fingers slide his pants and boxers down, and the cool air on his leaking cock makes him bite back another hiss.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus _Christ_, Cas," he whines, body seizing as he feels Castiel manhandle him to the bed, pulling off both his and Dean's shirt in the process, biting and sucking another mark on his throat.

"Do not blaspheme, Dean," the almost-human says lowly, rich, deep voice making the hunter shiver.

"I—fuck, just keep going, Cas!" He bites out, shaking fingers nearly ripping off the angel's (because he _is_, no matter how much mojo he's got,) clothes, hands roaming restlessly across that pale expanse of skin. Castiel threads his fingers through Dean's hair, bringing his face up to kiss him warmly, hot tongue sliding against his own, need burning low in his gut.

"Always so impatient," he murmurs against Dean's mouth, fingers playing idly at the sensitive spot on the nape of his neck, feeling him melt against him and effectively slowing down their movements, bodies losing their frantic, desperate need and turning to slow, churning passion. They arch into each other, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat.

Dean gazes up at his…well, his Cas, taking in the blue-black eyes, full pouted lips, and heaving chest. A chest not as flawless as the rest of him, long silver scars standing out like beacons. Dean takes a short breath, chest tight, thrumming with a deep ache. He looks up from Cas' chest to find his familiar stare, eyes large and fathomless in the low motel light. It's moments like these, caught in that bewitching, ancient gaze, where Dean knows that Cas is Castiel, angel of the Lord. Although at the moment he appears human in more than one way, his nature, his entire _being_ is otherworldly and alien. Dean, if he's honest with himself—which he rarely is—prefers it that way. Cas isn't part of this world, and Dean knows he should remember, even if he hardly ever does, but that just means the reminder is _that _much more thrilling when it makes its appearance.

With this thought in mind, he leans up and just breathes on the scar, hot pants on overheated skin. Cas shivers, eyes darkening above him, low groan rumbling deep in his throat.

"Dean," he breathes, and Dean's tongue darts to lick at the silver skin, relishing in the nearly imperceptible tremble until he finally seals his mouth over the mark near his belly button. There's the angel's hot, explosive breath on the back of his neck and a zing of electricity crawling up Dean's spine and tingling warmly on his own scar, settled permanently on his shoulder.

"Dean, _Dean_," Cas babbles, and Dean flips them, holding down the angel's trembling body while he scrapes along the scar with his mouth, tongue, and teeth, drawing out long, wavering moans, body heaving and glinting with moonshine sweat.

"Shh, Cas, I got you. I got you," Dean croons, voice like fine-drawn whiskey, smooth, throaty, and coated in honey. The angel freezes, and then suddenly he's _keening_, bringing up his rough-shaven cheek to rub it against Dean's, practically _purring _in loose-limbed, quivering contentment.

Huh.

So the angel's got a thing for the ol' accent.

Dean grins, turning his head to catch at those full lips, contented groan when Cas opens up immediately and reaches back, seeming like he's trying to climb inside Dean's mouth and never come out. Which, gross as that image might be, it feels _awesome. _

Unfortunately, they both need to breathe; only parting enough to get oxygen in, still close enough for lips to be touching as they pant.

All of a sudden, he's flipped on his stomach and an angel is sitting on his ass and _damn_ if he isn't happy to see him.

"Cas," he croaks, voice broken and just _wrecked_.

"Dean," Castiel says in that low, smoke on gravel voice, and _fuck _if that doesn't get Dean even harder, so he's rolling his hips against the mattress, trying desperately to get some sort of friction.

"Yeah," he gasps.

"I'm going to fuck you now." _Jesus, motherfucking Christ._

Dean freezes, eyes flying wide open, so black he could easily be mistaken as possessed, and _fuck it all_, he _whimpers, Jesus fuck._

"_Please._"

And, Cas, God bless his soul, takes mercy on his charge, hips grinding frantically against nothing, eyes nearly rolling back into his head. He barely feels it when the weight on his ass is gone for only a second, and only jumps out of his trance when a cool, slicked finger presses up against his hole.

"Relax," he says in that dark voice and if he doesn't stop with the phone sex operation he's got going on, Dean's going to come by just listening to him. He swallows, muscles giving way as Castiel slowly, agonizingly slowly, presses a single, slender finger all the way in and slowly pulls it out before pushing back in, pace slow and careful. On the third or fourth time, he crooks his finger a certain way and white hot pleasure _rockets_ up Dean's spine and he's whimpering again, pushing back against that finger.

Castiel swallows, watching the golden arched line of his charge's spine as he fucks himself against one, two, _three _of his fingers, head thrown back, neck bared, lashes long and burnt gold, freckles standing out against rose-bitten lips.

"Cas, _fuck_, please, n-need—_ah_—you in me. _Cas_," he rasps, Adam's apple bobbing as his hips undulate into the mattress.

The fallen angel narrows his eyes, only a small sliver of blue left in an overwhelming expanse of black.

"On all fours," he barks, and Dean gulps, limbs shaking as he does what he says. He crawls behind him, looking at that puckered, red hole, licking at it once, slipping his tongue in to taste _inside_ the man he gave everything for, and said man yelps, hips stuttering, high, shocked whimper falling from those feminine lips. Castiel catalogues that response in his memory, saving it for another time in another motel with this same exact man, but then slips his tongue out, storing the taste of _him_ in his mind and treasuring it, keeping it, _always._

Standing up, he lubes himself, distantly wondering how on _earth_ he hasn't come yet, before pressing the head gently inside, waiting for the hunter to relax before easing his way inside. By the time he's bottomed out, his legs are shaking with the effort to keep from snapping and he knows his grip on Dean's hips is going to leave bruises.

But, _blessed, _is Dean _tight._

"Cas, you feathery son of a bitch, _move_." Normally, Castiel would growl at the order, but in this case he feels he can make an exception. With too much grace and fluidity to be human, he slides halfway out before _thrusting_ back, catching the part that makes Dean _scream _on the first try, before settling back and following with shallow thrusts, finding a rhythm that makes Dean babble blasphemies and _Cas, Cas, Cas _over and over again.

Castiel's not much better, Dean's suffocating heat making his eyes roll back and making him regress into _other languages_, the word for _beloved, mine, beautiful, mine _all interflowing from Greek, Latin, Hebrew, _Enochian_, until it all ends the same. It all ends with _Dean._

And that's how he comes, Dean's name on his lips, his ass clenching around his own cock, and Dean's own strangled _Caaaassss_ that never seems to end.

He falls, sweaty and exhausted on top of a loose-limbed, drowsy Dean, sliding out with a squelch that causes a sated whine from Dean, whose hands paw at Castiel to curl next to him. The nearly-human slides down, ignoring the mess for the moment to lean into his charge's warmth, loving the muscled arm that comes around his waist and the lips nuzzling at his hair.

"You know," Dean breathes, exhale tickling the hair on the back of Castiel's neck. He hums questioningly.

"We should make this a goal."

"Make what a goal?"

"To fuck in as many places we can, as long as we still can."

They're too well-fucked and sleepy to linger on the unmentioned ending of Dean's sentence, so Castiel only turns around to face Dean, lips curling slightly at his automatic tightening of his arms.

"And when you say as many places…"

Dean smiles, and really that just shows how worn out they both are, because Dean only smiles when he's sleepy and relaxed, walls finally down enough to be vulnerable.

"I mean _everywhere_," he slurs, eyelids drooping on every word. His bright green eyes are hazy and warm, and Castiel dares anyone to say no to Dean when he's like _this, _all loose-limbed and lazy-eyed, burnt golden hair and sun-kissed skin spread akimbo over the bed.

So, Castiel does what every sane person would do. He kisses his charge deeply, pulling away to murmur into his skin:

"Anything you want, Dean. Anything you want."

* * *

I don't know why all my smut ends to schmoopy.

Hmm.

Anyway, FIRST TIME WRITING BUTT-SEX HERE, PEOPLES. DID I DO IT WRITE? I iz nervous about posting.

ALSO, in case you missed it the first time, this story is continued WITH SUGGESTIONS. As in, you review and give me a place where they should have sex, (and _maybe_ a kink if you would like to dare) and WHO KNOWS? I might just pick YOURS next.

Is that incentive enough to review? If it isn't well, review and you'll each get a lovely tube of SASSY Lube! (It exists, dudes, FORREALZ.) Whatever you wanna use it for...go ahead!

SAYANORA, BITCHES.


	2. In which there is sex in the Impala

Title: The Bucket List (2/?)  
Warnings: grinding, clothed!sex, angry!sex, frotting  
Genre: Romance/Angst  
Chapter Summary: During a hunt, Castiel almost dies throwing himself in front of Dean. Dean isn't happy.

Chapter 2: In which there is sex in the Impala.

* * *

"The hell where you thinking, Cas?" Dean shouts, jaw clenched, face red.

"Saving your ass, that's what," Castiel retorts, dark eyes unflinching like blue steel.

"I'm just going to go inside…" Sam mumbles, slinking up to the motel room with all of their stuff. Dean and Castiel ignore him.

"You could've died," Dean growls lowly, stepping up into the ex-angel's face.

"I am fine, aren't I? Hardly even a scratch."

"Don't be a smartass," he snarls, pushing Castiel up against the Impala door. Castiel narrows his eyes.

"Well, who do you think I learned _that_ from?"

"Goddamnit, Cas, you aren't an angel anymore! You're not fucking invincible!"

"You think I do not know that? Dean, me being here, wearing this, having _this_," he points at a dark bruise forming on his face, eyes flashing angrily, "means I'm no longer what I used to be. I cannot even heal a simple bruise, Dean! I _know _this."

Dean swallows, "Cas…" The ex-angel's nose flares, and he flips them around, cold seeping through Dean's clothes.

"But just because I'm not what I used to be does _not _mean I am useless. I was a soldier for many millennia, Dean. _Millennia. _My body isn't weak—you _know_ that. I'm not completely fallen. I am still stronger than you, and I can still feel my wings, useless as they may be. I have a spark of Grace I can feel when I'm with you, Dean, because of _this_." He fits his long fingers into the scar on Dean's shoulder and Dean groans, head falling back against his baby. A spark of heat trails up his spine and he shivers, feeling every movement of Castiel's fingers in hyper-clarity.

"You will not baby me," Castiel hisses into the hunter's panting mouth before sealing his lips over his in a harsh, brutal kiss that's all clacking teeth and savage tongues. It's been at least a week since they've done this, gotten body to body and had enough time to get farther than quick handjobs and messy kisses. They're both too frantic to get inside, Dean opening the back door of the Impala, pushing at Castiel so he can jiggle it open. When he does, Castiel pushes him and they fall, landing in a tangle of arms and legs.

Dean's soft _Oof_ when his back hits the leather seats causes Castiel to sit up, peering unblinkingly at him with dark, hungry eyes.

"God, you freak, stop staring at me," Dean cracks, body growing warm at the flash of affection in those depths, along with something else he definitely doesn't want to name.

They'd started this relationship based on convenience, Dean too tired of having empty one night stands and Castiel eager to experience the upsides of practically falling. They aren't exactly inclusive but they aren't open either, Dean free to flirt and mess around with anyone he wants but finding himself strangely reluctant. Last week hadn't been the first time they'd had all the way, full out sex, but it had only been the third or fourth, their relationship still new and unbelievable. Of course, you wouldn't believe that with the way Castiel is biting at Dean's neck and rolling his hips.

Dean snaps his head back, gasping.

"Stop thinking," Castiel growls. Dean lets out a shuddering breath, gripping at Castiel's clothes. He slips a hand underneath his shirt, needing to touch warm, writhing skin. Castiel hisses when Dean drags his nails from the concave of his stomach up to his ribs, to his nipple, rubbing and twisting the nub with his fingers. Castiel trembles, rolling his hips against Dean's clothed erection, and his hand stutters as he chokes on a moan.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean groans and Cas stills and Dean will never admit that he whimpers at the loss of movement, shifting around in the sticky leather.

"How many times have I told you to _stop with the blasphemy,_" Castiel says lowly, voice deep and rich as liquid dark chocolate. Which makes him seriously get some ideas.

"I—_fuck_," but, _fuck, _Cas is fucking _brutal_, undulating his hips and lining up the length of their cocks, dragging his teeth against the side of his neck before sinking them into the sensitive place slightly below and behind his ear. Dean _keens_, both hands settling low at Castiel' hips, thankful he's taken on wearing low-slung jeans, making it easy for him to reach down and grip those sharp, prominent hipbones. Holy _hell, _but he shouldn't find a dominating Cas so hot, but he clearly _does _if the way he's spreading his legs and rutting against him is any indication. It's not like this is news to him; he got hard that first time Castiel slammed him against a wall in the Green Room, eyes hard and defiant, chin up and knife out, exposing delicate wrists and so much _blood._

The same thing happened when Castiel had found him about to say yes, slamming him against the dirty alley wall and spitting angry, hurt words, breath hot and panting against his lips. When he'd mumbled _Please _and _Do it_ he had no idea what he had been asking for: blissful oblivion or…something else.

Castiel takes skin in his mouth and _sucks_, and Dean's abruptly pulled back from reminiscing, hearing the low, broken cry burst from his lips.

Castiel hums, the vibrations sending tingling excitement through his veins.

Dean's frantic now because Castiel's slotted their hips together _just so_, hands scrambling to reach skin, nails scratching up his back. His fingers scrabble against the ex-angel's shoulder blades and Castiel freezes, pupils blown even wider, mouth dropping open.

"Dean," he breathes, right before attacking his lips, full mouth sealing over Dean's in a messy, filthy kiss, sucking Dean's tongue in and looping that dexterous muscle tightly around.

They're both unbelievably desperate, hands pushing down pants and pulling up shirts, Dean taking out Castiel's and his own dick and sliding them together, pre-come and the messy friction hot and dirty, sweat shining on both their skin. The muscles in Castiel's lean stomach clench and those in Dean's biceps bulge as he flips them over, slip-sliding his way straight to bliss.

"Dean," Castiel gasps, writhing as he cups Dean's face, bringing him in for a kiss as pure as sin, which is to say, not at all. And they're both so _close_, nearly tripping over the edge _but not quite there._

"Cas," he grates, panting, "_Cas._"

"Dean, _Dean, _I'm going—I'm—" Castiel tucks his neck in the hollow of Dean's neck, breathing in and out rapidly. Dean traces the ex-angel's fluttering abdominal muscles, watching in hazy fascination the silver glow of the Enochian scar.

"I got you, Cas. You can let go. You can let _go_." There's a high-pitched keen and Castiel's bucking up, arching into Dean's chest when he twists his fingers a certain way, coming between them in burning spurts. He slumps underneath Dean, blue eyes half-lidded and framed by thick, black lashes. He shifts over Dean, exposing the hook of his thigh to hipbone for him to rut against, glancing quizzically at the mess between them. Dean bites his lip, thrusting his hips helplessly as he watches the near-human drag his long, slender fingers through his own release, coming up to sniff at it before tentatively wrapping his mouth around the digit, looking up at Dean with huge sapphire eyes.

Dean's breath catches because _hell _if that's not the hottest thing he's ever seen. He catches a slip of pink tongue and that's _it. _He shudders violently, his orgasm ripping through him in bright flashes, the scent of leather, sweat, and musk filling his nostrils.

"Fucking _hell, _Cas. Hottest thing ever," he murmurs nearly incoherently, vision hazy but not near unclear enough to avoid the smug smirk on Castiel's lips.

Castiel hums, grabbing a black towel used to wipe up blood and cleaning them off, settling into Dean's chest like he could burrow in and live there. Dean wraps an arm around him, inhaling the spring rain odor of Castiel's hair and shifting on the sticky sweat of what they did.

There's not enough room for two grown men in the backseat of the Impala, and much as he loves her—and he does—he doesn't really want to sleep in the backseat. He's too old and broad for that, although when he sits up and looks down at Castiel, languid and pale, molded into the dark leather like he was sewn into it, shirt off, pants unbuttoned to expose those sharp hipbones, he can't find it in himself to really care.

Castiel opens one eye, dark hair shining in the night light.

"What are you doing?" He asks, and _dear God _if that voice were any rougher he'd be ready for round two.

"Can't sleep here, Cas. We'll hate ourselves in the morning." Castiel huffs, not looking like he wants to agree but finding himself doing just that anyway.

"Don't wanna move," and he _really _shouldn't find a lazy, sleep-slurred Cas so damn endearing but he does, and all he wants to do is cradle him in his arms so he won't have to do anything.

"C'mere, you," he says instead, zipping up his pants and catching the angel as he half-crawls, half-snails his way to Dean, wrapping him up and carrying him. The night air is cool and bright, the moon silver and reflecting in his (_what? no. the) _angel's dark eyes and slack mouth.

As he makes his way toward the motel (why is Castiel _so light_?) he presses his mouth to those silky black strands, feeling as he sighs and curls in closer to Dean's warm chest.

"So, I assume we're crossing the Impala of that list, yes?"

Dean stops, brow furrowed as he tries to remember what Cas is talking about. Flashes of a late-night conversation: a sleep-slurred _everywhere _and a small, indulgent smile.

He laughs, smile genuine and so very _happy_ when he says, "Yeah, I guess it is."

* * *

It got schmoopy at the end. REMEMBER, REVIEWS WITH SUGGESTIONS WILL MOST LIKELY MAKE IT INTO THE STORY AT SOME POINT.

Also, the plot is kinda making itself known here. But it's very small. Impala!sex is hard to write.

AND. GUYS. THE EPISODE. JUST. I LIKED IT A LOT. THE SAM AND CASTIEL MOMENT. I WAS LIKE AWW STOP MAKING ME SHIP SASSY (I don't. I feel uncomfortable shipping Sassy when there is Dean around. It makes me feel weird.) BUT I SHIP BROTHERLY MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM AAAALLL.

P.S. Cas needs a hug.

P.P.S. I HAVE A TUMBLR NOW GUYS. It's rewrite-the-role-we-play. tumblr. com (without the spaces.) I kind of flail around and am generally annoying. Also, I post weird shit I write. And there's Glee there too because I am obsessed with that show as well. BUT IT'S MOSTLY SUPERNATURAL STUFF. And, yeah. I'm done.


	3. In which there is sex in the shower

Title: The Bucket List (3/?)  
Pairings: Dean/Castiel  
Warnings/Kinks: Blowjobs, rimming, scar!kink, bottom!Dean, toppy!Cas  
Chapter Summary: While Sam's out for breakfast, Dean and Castiel decide to have a little fun. Takes place right after Chapter 2  
Genre: Romance/Family  
Chapter 3: In which there is sex in the shower.

* * *

When Dean wakes up, it's to steady breathing and warm weight over his legs. He looks bemusedly down at Cas, who has managed to octopus his way around him without waking. He shifts, glancing around the room to notice Sam's gone. Frowning a bit, he extricates himself out of Cas' hold and gets up, lumbering sleepily to the kitchen area, opening the fridge to grab a water bottle, trying to wash away the just-been-asleep aftertaste. There's a huff that comes from the bed, and he turns around to see the ex-angel shift to the middle of the bed, burrowing under the covers until just a tuft of black hair showed. Dean grins.

Castiel, it turns out, is not a morning person. Dean would've thought he'd be the type to wake up at the crack of dawn so he could "view the beauty of creation" or some shit, but instead, the first night he'd actually fallen asleep, he'd been like a log, taken to snapping whenever they tried to wake him. When they finally did, he usually sat on the bed with an extreme case of bed hair, half-lidded eyes, and slouched back. It was pretty endearing in a grumpy, afraid-for-your-life kind of way.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up," he says, threading his fingers through that bed hair and shaking his head slightly. Cas whines, and bats his hand at Dean's general direction, mumbling incoherently, before shaking his head out of Dean's grip and sitting up slightly. Dean laughs and walks back to the kitchen, noticing the light blue paper fluttering on the fridge.

_Dean and Cas,_

_ Heading to get breakfast. I'll be gone for like an hour. __**Please **__try to be decent when I get back._

_ -Sam_

Dean smirks before throwing the post-it behind him, yelling over his shoulder.

"Cas, Sammy wants us to have lots of loud, awesome sex before he gets back!"

"I'm sure he said those words exactly," the ex-angel says wryly, wrinkling his nose and batting away the post-it, glaring at Dean with dark, sleep-smudged eyes.

"Quit trying to ruin my fun, grumpy," he says before getting up and stretching, grinning when he sees Cas follow the movement, lingering on the exposed skin from his ridden-up shirt.

He strips off his shirt, turning to ruffle through his duffle bag. Quickly, he pulls down his boxers and grabs a towel. He turns to look at Cas, whose eyes have gone dark.

"You wanna cross off one more place on that list?" He smirks and prances to the bathroom, opening the door and turning on the water. Warm liquid hits his body and he sighs, tilting his head up to the water.

Soft hands bracket Dean's body, trailing up his ribs and curling over his shoulders. He shivers when one brushes his scar, a soft burst of electric shock moving through Dean's skin.

The raspy texture of tongue and scruff appears in the center of his shoulder blades, and he drops his head, water hitting the back of his neck as the feeling moves lower, tracing each vertebrae of his spine. Dean shivers, cock swelling as Castiel's tongue moves down, slender fingers curving around his hipbones.

His head jerks and breath catches, and he places his arms on the dripping tile wall. His legs widen as he feels Castiel's tongue dip into the crease of Dean's ass, teeth nibbling gently at the sides.

Suddenly, he stiffens, a choked whimper falling from Dean's lips, drops of water sliding down his face and dripping off his chin or into his lips.

"Fuck," he breathes, Castiel's tongue touching places he's never even dreamed, twisting and plunging like it's its own limb.

Castiel hums, taking his fingers, dripping with smooth conditioner and slipping them in with his tongue without warning. He _feels _the groan vibrating through the hunter's tense body.

"_Shit,_" comes the hushed, wrecked whisper and Castiel hums again, the sound traveling up Dean's spine.

"Fuck, _Cas_," he moans when Cas makes a particular crook of his fingers and sends blazes of heat through Dean's body, knees trembling with the effort to stay upright, Castiel's grip on his hips practically the only thing keeping him up. He whimpers helplessly, one hand sliding down the wet tile and touching himself, broad fingers sticky slippery with water and precome. Castiel shifts a little, tongue slipping out momentarily and adding a third finger, thrusting them in and out relentlessly, mouth murmuring endearments into Dean's skin, dragging his teeth across his firm thigh and the inside of Dean's knee.

Dean's breathing is labored and erratic, fingers curled loosely into a fist, pumping in and out. He whimpers and then stiffens, low cry falling from his lips when Cas thrusts his tongue along with his fingers.

"Fuckin' hell," he whispers, voice ragged and raw as he slip-slides into orgasm, legs trembling and falling with weak euphoria. He leans his head against the wall, water dripping down his face. There's a low hum and soft hands and he lets himself get turned around, face cupped by those same soft hands, hooded eyes focusing on the bright blue of the ex-angel's.

Castiel kisses him, humming languidly. Dean presses closer to him, still feeling an insistent hardness against his thigh.

"Cas, stand up," he whispers against his lips. Castiel looks at him, wide eyes growing darker as he stands gracefully, crystal droplets trickling down his smooth, lean body. Slowly, he grips those hipbones he loves so damn much and pushes him gently against the wall.

He noses that hard evidence of arousal, breath wafting hotly against the skin. Castiel twitches, slender fingers coming up to curl in Dean's bedraggled hair.

"Dean," he breathes, and looking up into the dark eyes ringed a drowning blue, he takes him into his mouth, tongue curling, throat relaxing.

"_Dean,_" voice a little more insistent, volume at a low, deep growl. Dean shivers because that voice never fails to send a heated thrill down his spine. His dick twitches, starting to harden, and he takes one hand to grasp the base, still sucking down on Cas like a friggin' professional.

"_Ah,_" Castiel makes a soft, whimpering sound, nails scratching at Dean's scalp. The breathy sounds run closer together and Dean knows he's close, looking up as he scrapes his teeth gently along the side, taking a hand and playing with Cas' balls, nearly choking when the ex-angel's hips jerk forward at the action. His own cock is getting hard again and he takes a hand and strokes himself lightly, the fingers still playing with Cas' balls sliding back, the index pressing into Castiel's hole.

There's a harsh cry and a strangled _Dean_ and Cas comes, spilling hot and salty into Dean's mouth. He swallows, licking at everything he missed as Cas softens inside him, taking his lips off with an obscene pop.

His knees are aching and his jaw hurts, but when Cas drops down, cradling Dean's face in his hands and presses a deep kiss to his lips, tongue sliding in to taste himself in Dean's mouth—well, he can't really complain.

* * *

ALKDSFJALSJDFAL. I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS HAS TAKEN ME SO LONG. The bj part just did not want to be written. At all.

REMEMBER, REVIEWS = GETTING YOUR PLACES IN THE STORY.

ALSO. JUST REMINDING YOU GUYS I HAVE A TUMBLR WHERE I SOMETIMES POST THINGS LIKE RPS THAT ISN'T ALLOWED ON HERE. ADIOS. (rewrite-the-role-we-play. tumblr. com) no spaces.


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